It's Personal
by Mayle
Summary: Sherlock goes to a club, disguised as woman in hopes of rooting out a suspect. Instead of his mark, he finds John there. Now it's just one crazy thing after another as he searches for the answers to all the questions. And the questions as well, because he doesn't even know them.
1. Chapter 1

"Hey, handsome," Sherlock said in his perfected woman's voice, "Can I sit here?"

There was a chuckle from the man in the shadows. He leaned forward and brought his face into the light. Sherlock just barely stifled a gasp as John smiled up at him.

"You're not my type," John said, "But you're welcome to sit."

Sherlock's mind went on hyper drive. This was the regular booth of his suspect. What was John doing in it? He smiled slightly and slid in across from John.

"What's your type then?" he questioned.

John laughed rather bitterly.

"Consulting detectives," he muttered so low Sherlock was sure he misheard him.

John stared at his drink for a moment and then looked up, smiling softly.

"It certainly isn't men who dress in drag," John said, smirking.

Sherlock's eyes widened slightly.

"How did you know?" Sherlock asked, keeping his woman voice.

"Well, I learn from the best," John said, grinning widely, "My flatmate is a genius. He notices things about people that even they refuse to acknowledge. Deduction. That's what he calls it. It's mostly his excuse to be an arse. Anyway, I sort of picked up some tricks from him. Not to mention I can tell a stuffed bra when I see one."

Sherlock felt rather embarrassed and turned his head away. He could feel heat in his face and mentally cursed himself for it.

"Hey, no worries, little lady," John said softly, "I won't tell anyone."

Sherlock looked back to John in surprise.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"No problem," John said brightly, "So what are you doing in here?"

Sherlock rapidly tried to remember what it was he was doing there.

"Looking for someone to go home with," he lied, "What about you?"

John's expression saddened.

"Hiding from my flatmate," he admitted, "Before he can deduce anything about why I'm acting weird."

"Why are you acting weird?" Sherlock prompted.

"Doesn't matter," John answered dismissively, "Nothing can ever come of it. The man is a "high-functioning sociopath". Or that's what he likes to tell people. I know he has emotions. I can see them when he thinks I'm not looking. He thinks I'm stupid and that I can't see what's right in front of me, but I can see it. He thinks if he tells people he's a sociopath enough, it'll become true. But it won't."

John laid his head down on his crossed arms.

"I just wish he trusted me with those emotions," John confessed, "I would never hurt him. But he thinks that he's vulnerable when he allows his emotions to rule him. He thinks it's a defect found on the losing side…I'm not quite sure why there always has to be "sides". I don't know who he thinks he's fighting all the time…"

John trailed off, looking rather depressed. Sherlock felt something inside him twist like a knife in a wound.

"Maybe he thinks the whole world is against him?" Sherlock suggested.

"That's probably true," John answered, "A lot of his life, I think; he's been called a freak by people who don't understand him. And there's a lot who don't understand him. Hell, I don't even understand him and I'm his best friend, flatmate, partner. Whatever the hell we are."

"Partner?" Sherlock piped up, "As in you're together?"

John's head came up and he laughed.

"Oh god no," John laughed, "Haven't you been listening? Sherlock doesn't do _together. _He does I-use-you-for-what-I-need. He told me he was married to his work when we first met. Well, not when we _first_ met, but not too long after that."

Sherlock frowned at the "I use you for what I need" bit, but quickly dismissed it.

"How'd you guys meet?" Sherlock probed.

"Quite curious about me and my flatmate, aren't you?" John said, smirking slightly, "We met through our mutual acquaintance, Mike Stamford. I accidently met up with him and he told me about Sherlock-that's my friend-needing a flatmate. The man knew things about me by just looking at me. It was incredible the way he just gathered all of what he saw and just found out what it meant. He's truly incredible, really."

Sherlock felt himself glow under John's praises. He smirked slightly, but squashed it so John wouldn't see. They sat in silence for a bit as John finished off his drink.

"Sorry about talking your ear off," John said, "I think I'm a bit buzzed. That always makes me talk more."

"It's ok," Sherlock said brightly, "I like hearing about you and your flatmate."

They sat quietly for another few minutes as Sherlock discovered that he actually did like hearing John talk about them.

"Hey, what's your name?" John asked suddenly.

Sherlock pretended to look hesitant and John laughed.

"Sorry, that seemed creepy," John said, rubbing at his face, "I'm John. I swear that's not fake. That's my real name."

Sherlock smiled shyly.

"Beth," he said quietly.

"Is that your real name or the one you wish it was?" John asked.

Sherlock had forgotten that John knew he wasn't a woman.

"It's the one I mostly go by," Sherlock, or rather _Beth, _answered.

They went quiet again, staring in different directions. Sherlock propped his high-heel clad feet up on the table. John's eyes travelled down his legs and Sherlock shivered slightly.

"You have got amazing legs," John said in wonder.

His eyebrows scrunched up as if he was trying to remember something.

"They look familiar," John muttered.

Sherlock nearly panicked at that. But John shook his head dismissively.

"Maybe a bit more buzzed than I thought I was," John said rather sheepishly.

Sherlock smiled at him and breathed a mental sigh of relief.

"It's ok," Sherlock assured him, "Perhaps you ought to get home?"

"Probably a good idea," John agreed, "I wish I could say "I'm sure Sherlock is wondering where I went", but that would be a lie. Sherlock hardly realizes when I leave the flat. He asked me for a pen once when I wasn't there and got mad when I hadn't handed it to him. Wanker. Sorry, damn, I'm doing it again. I don't seem to be able to stop talking about him."

"It's quite alright," Sherlock said brightly.

John smiled softly and slid out of the booth.

"It was nice talking to you, Beth," John said, smiling sweetly, "Maybe we'll meet up again, yeah?"

"I hope so," Sherlock answered honestly.

John smiled at him and made his way out of the bar. Sherlock sighed heavily, pushing away those _emotions_ that threatened to overthrow him. He looked at his legs in mild curiosity. John had said they were amazing…he ran his fingers down his slender leg and sighed.

"A woman stroking her own legs," a man's gruff voice said, "Now that's what I like to see."

Sherlock nearly told the man to piss off, but he reminded himself that this was his suspect.

"Hey, handsome," Sherlock said, "Want to sit down?"

"Don't mind if I do," the man answered.

He slid into the booth and his eyes snaked down Sherlock's legs hungrily. Sherlock shivered again, but this time because the man's eyes felt rough on his skin. Sherlock wondered how eyes could feel any way at all. John's eyes had felt soft and gentle, but this man's eyes felt as though they were trying to take him apart. He stifled a frown and launched into conversation with the man, pushing away the disappointment he felt.


	2. Chapter 2

When Sherlock woke up the next morning, John was hovering near his bare legs. Sherlock blinked sleepily at the other man, who was staring intently at Sherlock's legs. Sherlock wrapped his sheet tighter around himself and shivered at John's inspection.

"What are you doing?" he finally asked.

John looked up at him with his eyebrows furrowed.

"Why do I remember seeing your bare legs last night?" John questioned.

Sherlock's throat went dry. John was about to put two and two together.

"I don't know what you mean," Sherlock said calmly, "I've been laying here practically all night."

_Not technically a lie, _Sherlock thought to himself.

"I was at the bar," John remembered, "And I was talking to Beth. And then I came home and went to bed. I can't think of any time I should've seen your legs and yet I vividly remember seeing them."

John's eyes were closed in concentration.

"Wait," his eyes popped open, "Were you laying here when I got home?"

Sherlock nodded in confirmation.

"Ah," John said, "Must have seen them when I came in then."

He looked thoughtful for another moment and then shook his head dismissively once again.

"Anyway, tea?" he prompted, smiling lightly.

"Yes," Sherlock croaked out, swinging his legs off the couch.

John stared at the motion as it happened, his eyebrows knitting together. He shrugged and ambled off towards the kitchen. Sherlock wondered how he was in such a good mood with a hangover. _Perhaps he didn't drink enough to get a hangover_, Sherlock thought briefly. He pulled his sheet around himself and meandered into the kitchen to observe John. John smiled at him briefly when he entered the room and went back to tea and toast making.

Sherlock frowned. There was something about John that seemed different. His shoulders seemed less tense than normal. His hand wasn't shaking like it did when Sherlock stared at him, even though Sherlock was in fact staring at him. John looked at him and smiled again. Sherlock couldn't help but smile back at the other man. John held out a plate and a mug, which Sherlock took without arguing.

_I wonder if this has anything to do with Beth, _Sherlock pondered as he made his way to the sofa. He chewed the toast John had given him, but he couldn't really taste any flavor. _Maybe he just really enjoyed her company…_he thought as the toast turned into paste in his mouth. He swallowed thickly and the pasty toast lumped in his throat. He swallowed again, but it didn't seem to want to dislodge. He let out a hacking cough and the lump stayed lodged in his throat. He tried to gasp in air, but that only served to further his choking.

Suddenly, he was yanked up and arms wrapped around him. A fist thrust upwards under his ribcage and he felt himself lift up along with the lump in his throat. The lump found its way to his mouth and he choked it out into his hands. He hacked a bit more, before knocking John out of the way and running to the bathroom. He gagged and vomited into the toilet, falling to his knees. Shudders raked his body as he vomited over and over again. He was vaguely aware of hands on his head. He gasped and tried to calm himself.

"You're ok," he heard John's voice whisper, "You're ok. It's alright Sherlock. Just breathe slowly. Deep breath in through the nose. Use your nose some more there Sherlock. It's ok, love. Just breathe. You're ok."

Sherlock managed to calm his breath in accordance to John's whispers. He leaned against John's chest, weak from the whole affair.

"Yeah, it's hard the first time," John whispered, his hand stroking Sherlock's hair, "You're ok. I've got you."

"I know," Sherlock gasped out in a raspy voice, "You always have me…"

"That's right," John agreed softly, "I've always got you."

Sherlock felt the knife twisting feeling again. He felt guilty for everything he'd ever done to inconvenience John in any way. He felt awful for always dismissing John's feelings and ideas. He choked back a sob and grabbed ahold of John's shirt. He stared desperately into the man's eyes, trying to open his mouth and say something, anything. But his mouth remained sealed shut. John smiled softly down at him.

"It's ok," John said quietly, "I understand. You're welcome."

"Right," Sherlock managed, pushing himself off of John's chest.

He stood up and excited the bathroom, aiming for his own room. He heard flushing behind him, which meant John was taking care of the nastiness Sherlock had spewed into the toilet. He stopped in the kitchen and quickly washed his hands of the gross paste that had come from his throat. He shivered as he remembered the brief moment. It had only been mere seconds, but Sherlock could have died. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration…

John came into the kitchen and smiled at him.

"You alright?" he questioned gently.

"Obviously," Sherlock toned.

John's smiled vanished.

"Well, let me know if you need something," John said.

He turned back around and went to the living room. Sherlock felt guilty again. He _hated _feeling guilty. He made it a general rule to never feel guilty and yet as time went on he felt more and more guilty for not being what John deserved. Sherlock stomped into his room and slammed the door. He unceremoniously threw himself onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. His eyes blurred slightly as he entered his Mind Palace.

_"John?" he called, his voice echoing off the white walls._

_ "Sherlock!" John called back from somewhere to his left._

_ Sherlock turned to the sound and smiled. John was lounging on his armchair, grinning at Sherlock. _

_ "What's up, little pup?" John laughed._

_ Sherlock rolled his eyes and went to sit by the John in his mind._

_ "John, I need to ask you something," Sherlock said seriously._

_ John sat up straighter and donned on his you-have-all-my-attention look that Sherlock loved._

_ "What do you need, John?" Sherlock questioned in a timid voice._

_ John seemed rather taken aback by the question. He tapped his chin thoughtfully before answering._

_ "Well, a roof over my head, food, tea," John listed off, smiling slightly, "But I also need love from friends and family. That's what makes us different, Sherlock."_

_ "Yes, I figured as much," Sherlock said tiredly, "Look, John, I'm no good with sentiment."_

_ John smiled warmly at him and reached forward, taking one of his hands in his._

_ "Sherlock, I don't need you to be sentimental," John said in a sweet voice, "I just need you to listen when I'm talking occasionally. Every once in a while it would be nice if you actually at least pretended to care about my feelings. I know, I know, you don't understand them, but just listen once in a while. That's all I really need. Just for you to listen to me, not to understand."_

_ Sherlock smiled widely._

_ "I do believe you're right," Sherlock said brightly, "I can do that as Beth!"_

_ John smiled at him and faded away, squeezing his hand briefly as he dissipated. _

Sherlock frowned as he found himself back on his bed staring at the ceiling. But the frown soon changed when he realized that he could be a friend to John by being Beth. John seemed willing to talk to Beth and since Sherlock would be in that persona, it would be easier to act the way John would need him to. Sherlock felt the knife twisting feeling as he thought about how it wouldn't really be him becoming close to John. He didn't know why that upset him. Hell, he didn't even know why he felt it necessary to get close to John. He just knew that there was some reason that he _had _to.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey, there," John's voice called cheerily, "Remember me?"

Sherlock looked up and smirked.

"Of course I remember you," Beth's voice rang out, "How could I forget you?"

John blushed and rolled his eyes.

"May I sit?" John asked, gesturing towards the other side of the booth.

Sherlock smiled widely at him.

"Of course," he answered.

Sherlock internally sighed with relief. He'd been waiting for John for an hour now and had begun to wonder if he'd gone to a different pub. When John said he was going out "for some air", Sherlock had waited ten minutes (enough time for John to remember if he'd forgotten something) and hurriedly pulled out the Beth costume. He'd become quite adept at turning himself into a woman. It was a fact that might scare a normal man, but Sherlock wasn't normal, was he?

"Looking for a date again?" John prompted, lifting his glass to his lips.

"I suppose," Sherlock answered, shrugging, "More like passing time really. Getting away from everything and all that."

John smiled and nodded.

"I understand," he said in reply, looking sadly down at his drink.

Sherlock felt the knife twisting feeling again.

"You alright there, John?" Sherlock asked.

John looked up and gave a weak smile.

"Of course I am," John responded, "Just a bit tired is all."

Sherlock gave him the I'm-not-buying-your-crap look. John chuckled lightly, his face lightening.

"Alright, alright," John caved, "I'm just a bit upset with my flatmate. Again."

"Oh?" Sherlock prompted.

"Yeah…" John trailed off for a moment, looking at his hands, "He just doesn't seem to care about me very much. I mean, I know deep down somewhere in his cold, distant body there's a bit of him that cares about me. Really, he's died for me…well, not exactly…that's complicated. Anyway, he's done big things that show that he cares whether I live or die, but on a daily basis he's very cold…"

John pressed a hand to his eyes and sighed loudly.

"It's stupid, I know," John muttered, "But I just wish he could show me he cares so I don't feel so much like a pet that he uses for whatever purposes he requires. Does that make any sense?"

John moved his hand and looked at Beth. Meanwhile, Sherlock was having some interesting thoughts on the word "pet".

"Not like that, Beth!" John exclaimed, laughing slightly, "Sherlock doesn't do sexual stuff."

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, but quickly remembered that he was Beth. He grinned and winked, but then turned serious.

"Maybe he just shows it in ways that you don't realize," Sherlock suggested, "Maybe you just don't realize because you didn't know him before he knew you."

John looked thoughtful for a moment.

"I guess you're right," John admitted, "I mean, I don't know what he was like before we were flatmates, so maybe there is something he does differently. Not that I'd ever be observant enough to know."

He let out a huff at the end of the last sentence and took a gulp of his drink.

"Maybe you should ask someone what he was like before," Sherlock offered, "That would give you a clue, yeah?"

John wrinkled his nose.

"But then I'd have to talk to Mycroft," he whined in apparent disgust.

Sherlock couldn't help but laugh in triumph over their mutual distaste of his brother.

"Who's Mycroft then?" Sherlock asked, still laughing slightly, "You seem not so fond of him."

"Oh, he's Sherlock's brother," John said, waving his hand dismissively, "He holds a "minor role" in the government. Anyway, he thinks it's a good reason to watch his little brother constantly. It's pretty unnerving actually, because it means he watches me too."

"Sounds like a creep," Sherlock said, wrinkling his own noise.

John chuckled and shrugged.

"I dunno," he said, his face getting serious again, "I don't think Sherlock would like me poking around his past anyway. He does deserve a bit of privacy, even though he invades everyone else's."

Sherlock smirked slightly.

"This Sherlock guy," Sherlock said, laying his legs out on his half of the booth, "He seems difficult to live with."

John smiled widely, his eyes twinkling.

"He sure is," he said in a quiet voice, "He does these awful experiments and leaves them all over the table. He puts body parts in the fridge-don't worry, he had permission to take them-and doesn't bother telling me what's going to be in there. He drives me up the wall when he's bored, reading over my shoulder and harassing me to find him something to do. He insults me and almost everything I do. He always calls me stupid or dull. He plays the violin at all hours of the night. I have to yell at him to get him to clean or eat or sleep. Sometimes he even shoots the walls with my gun."

Sherlock internally frowned.

"So why do you stay with him then?" he questioned.

John's smile got impossibly wider and he leaned across the table.

"Can you keep a secret?" John whispered.

Sherlock smirked and leaned across the table so his and John's faces were mere inches apart.

"Yeah," he answered, grinning brightly.

"Those experiments fascinate me," John whispered, "I love guessing what's going to be in the fridge next. I love when he clings to me when his bored. Him insulting me just helps me try to be better. I am stupid and dull compared to him, so I don't mind him saying so. I love that annoying violin and the beautiful music he plays on it. I don't sleep well anyway, so him playing doesn't make any difference, except to relax me when I've had nightmares. I like looking after him and reminding him to eat and sleep. And seeing him so riled up and firing a gun is…"

John trailed off, his eyes becoming unfocused and dilating slightly. He blushed slightly and focused back on Beth. Sherlock felt his heartbeat drumming faster in his chest as John opened his mouth to finish his "secret".

"Let's just say, I enjoy it," John said lightly, "The point is, everyone keeps telling me he's so unbearable, but all the things they say are unbearable are just things that make Sherlock who he is. And I can't change that. I don't even want to change that. Because I like him how he is: crazy, eccentric genius. And I don't ever want him to change to accommodate anyone, least of all me."

Sherlock felt a lump in his throat and he swallowed thickly. He remembered to be Beth and simply smiled.

"Sounds like you really care about him," Sherlock said quietly.

"I do," John confessed, "I really do. I wish I could tell _him _that."

Sherlock shook his head.

"I think you already have," he replied, "All these things you do for him. I think he knows that you do them because you care. I think you've _shown _him that you care."

"You're very insightful, Beth," John said in answer, "But Sherlock doesn't understand emotions the same way normal people do. Mostly because he doesn't want to; as I've said before, he thinks it's a weakness."

John leaned back into his seat and looked sadly back into his cup, as though he hoped the answers to his life were in there. Sherlock felt the knife twisting feeling again.

"Maybe…" Sherlock trailed off and cleared his throat, "Maybe he understands more than he lets on."

John shrugged and nodded.

"Probably," John conceded, "But he doesn't _want _to, so it doesn't matter whether he does or not; he's just going to ignore them."

Sherlock leaned back in his own seat, defeated. There was no way to convince John that Sherlock cared, so he just had to convince John that Beth cared.

"Well, you have a sad relationship with your flatmate, John," Sherlock said, "But I'm sure it'll all work out. I mean, you care about him deeply and I think he really does care about you, so it'll work. That's how things are."

John smiled warmly at Beth.

"You're sweet;" John said kindly, "Remind me why it is that you hang around such a place when you're way too kind for it."

Sherlock looked away sheepishly.

"Nothing is ever quite as it seems," he answered softly.

John smiled at him reassuringly. Then he looked down at his watch and groaned.

"Ugh," he muttered, "I should be going home. Sherlock's got a case he wants me up early for tomorrow morning. Besides, I already went to a different pub and had enough to drink there. I think I'll be heading out. Would you like to share a cab?"

"John, are you propositioning me?" Sherlock said, grinning widely.

John blushed and rolled his eyes.

"No, but if you need a place to stay," John said, "You're welcome to stay with me."

Sherlock had a brief moment of panic before he quickly reminded himself he could simply say no.

"I'll be alright," Sherlock assured John, "Thank you though. You're a very kind man and I know there's no way that that flatmate of yours doesn't care about you."

John smiled half-heartedly and turned. Sherlock watched him walk from the place and briefly wondered how long he should wait before going home. He slid into his mind palace and played the conversation over again. And again. And again. His lovely photographic memory allowed him to see things he hadn't seen the first time around. He saw how John's eyes would occasionally flick to his legs or hands or neck and his eyebrows would furrow as though he was confused about something. Sherlock realized this meant that John knew.

On some level of his subconscious, John knew that Beth was Sherlock. Sherlock wondered how it was that John knew his legs, hands and neck so much. Had they really been that familiar that John noticed these things without Sherlock realizing it? Sherlock rubbed at his temples, fighting back the imminent headache. Why couldn't anything ever be simple? Oh yes, that's right, because Sherlock hated simple.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock watched John as he drowned his sorrows with rum. A few glasses into the drowning, Sherlock decided to throw him a bit of a lifeline. He smiled widely as he confidently walked towards John's table. If he said the double takes men did as he passed didn't faze him, he'd be lying. He loved this: commanding everyone's attention. Granted, he did enjoy it more when he was himself and when it was because of his intelligence, but the attention was an ego boost none-the-less. He slid into the booth, grinning and winking at John. John smiled widely at him.

"Beth!" John exclaimed, "I was hoping I would see you!"

He knocked over his glass and frowned as the liquid drained from the cup over the table. He buried his face in his hands and let out a strangled noise to which Sherlock sat up straighter. He reached across the table and lightly touched John's arm. John jumped violently.

"Sherlock, what are you do-?" John stopped as he saw that it was Beth touching his arm, not Sherlock.

He squinted at the thin hand that was quickly beginning to retreat. His own hand snapped out and snatched the wrist attached to the hand. He jumped up, bringing the wrist, the hand and the whole package with him as he went. Sherlock bumped his knee on the table as he was yanked up from across it. John's eyes snapped up to Sherlock's, a deathly glare set in the beautiful blue. Sherlock felt himself swallowing. John's grip tightened on Sherlock's wrist to a bruising point.

"You little shit," John said through clenched teeth, "What you thought I wouldn't notice?! I _knew _there was something weird about the legs! What are you doing?! Why are you doing this?!"

Sherlock swallowed again and looked away, unable to fully express what it was that he was doing.

"John, just let me ex-," Sherlock was interrupted by a slap.

"Don't don't…don't talk like, like…_that_ when you're her," John said breathlessly.

Sherlock frowned at him.

"I thought…" John's free hand covered his eyes and he made a strangled noise in his throat, "I thought I found a friend…I thought for once I'd be rid of you…that I had _something _without you…"

Sherlock felt the knife twisting feeling in his stomach again. He opened his mouth, but the only thing that came out was a choking noise. John abruptly turned away and yanked Sherlock along with him. He stomped towards the exit, dragging a frazzled Sherlock along with him. Sherlock's mind kick-started and he weighed the possible outcomes to this situation. There was a small chance that John was dragging him out of the pub to beat the crap out of him in an alley, but Sherlock didn't think John was likely to do that.

More likely he was dragging him _home _to beat the crap out of him.

"J-j-John…I…I…I'm s-," Sherlock was silenced by another slap.

"I said don't. Talk. Like. That. When. You're. Her," John said in a low, dangerous voice.

Sherlock swallowed (again) and nodded his understanding. John turned back around and dragged him the few more feet out of the pub. Sherlock was beginning to wonder if this was one of his smarter ideas. John dragged him along for the short distance to 221B. He was worried he'd broken his doctor…John burst through the door angrily and Mrs. Hudson poked around the corner.

"Oh, John, dear is that your girlfriend?" Mrs. Hudson questioned.

"No!" John snapped, "It's Sherlock!"

Mrs. Hudson squinted at Sherlock and nodded.

"Obviously, should have recognized those cheekbones!" Mrs. Hudson said, "Anyway, you two have a good night. I'll be putting the ear plugs in then."

"What!? No!" John sputtered as Mrs. Hudson disappeared around the corner.

John let out a frustrated noise and started up the stairs, dragging Sherlock up them as well. When they made it up into the living room John shoved Sherlock in the direction of Sherlock's bedroom.

"Go change!" he commanded.

Sherlock opened his mouth, but closed again, deciding it best to just follow John's instructions. He hurried to his room and quickly changed back into himself; though he left his shirt untucked and didn't bother to pull on any shoes. He hurried back into the living room where John was sitting on the sofa waiting for him. Sherlock nervously started forward and hesitated, hovering near John in the dark room. He sank to his knees and placed a hand on John's leg. John's eyes immediately flew open and glared down at him.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded.

"A lot," Sherlock said quietly.

John seemed even more pissed by the answer.

"Don't try to talk your way out of this," John said angrily, "Just answer truthfully: why did you do this?"

Sherlock withdrew his hand and placed it across his lap.

"I wanted you to know I cared about you," Sherlock answered, "I wanted to give you some sort of affection. Lately, I have been feeling rather guilty about not being the best friend I could be…so when we accidently met that first time when I was Beth, I thought I could use that persona to be a better friend to you."

"Sherlock, you are an idiot," John stated clearly.

Sherlock looked up in surprise. John gave him a soft smile and placed a hand on his cheek. He leaned forward until they were inches apart.

"You're already my best friend, Sherlock," John whispered, "You don't have to do any more."

"But you told Beth that you wished I showed I cared more," Sherlock pointed out.

"I do," John admitted, "But I don't need you to. And I certainly don't need you to become another person to do it."

Sherlock sighed heavily and leaned against John's hand.

"I wish I'd known that…" Sherlock muttered.

"It's alright, Sherlock," John assured him, his thumb moving back and forth, "I know you don't understand emotions and sentiment and usually I don't mind. It's just every once in a while I get upset because I…"

He trailed off and Sherlock looked back into his eyes expectantly.

"I, er, do a lot for you," John said, "And I sometimes wish I knew that you appreciated it."

"I do," Sherlock said earnestly.

John smiled at him and withdrew his hand, leaning back slightly.

"Good," John said lightly.

"Tell me how I can show you," Sherlock insisted, lifting his hands to John's knees, "I'll do anything!"

"You should really consider your wording and your position," John said quietly.

Sherlock frowned and looked down at himself. _Kneeling? _He looked back up and realized he was eye level with John's crotch.

_"I'll do anything!" _his own eager voice played back in his mind.

"Oh," Sherlock stated, "That's included in anything. If you want me to, I will."

John gaped at him.

"Are you mental?!" he exclaimed.

"No, I'm sorry," Sherlock said in panic, "I just don't want you to leave."

The confession came out in a raw, aching voice that made Sherlock silently curse. John leaned forward and placed his hands on either side of Sherlock's head. He looked down with a sad look that made Sherlock feel even worse.

"Sherlock, you don't have to do that to make me stay," John said in a hushed tone, "I will stay anyway."

"Would you be happier if I did that?" Sherlock questioned.

"I think anyone would be happier if you did that," John laughed, "But th-."

"Then I'll do it," Sherlock interrupted, his hands sliding forward onto John's thighs.

John gasped and his hands flew to Sherlock's.

"S-stop!" John sputtered, "Don't…Jesus, Sherlock. You really don't know how any of this works, do you?"

"I've done it before, if that's what you are asking," Sherlock said, wiggling his fingers under John's grasp, "I won't hurt you. I promise."

"No, no, that's not what I meant," John muttered, "I meant you don't know how society works with sex and all that."

"Sex is to satisfy two people," Sherlock stated, "This isn't sex. I just mean to satisfy you."

"Sherlock…stop talking like that," John said through clenched teeth, "You do this sort of thing because you like the person or better yet, love them."

"Well, I love you, so I don't see the problem."

The confession hung in the air like fog between the two as they stared each other in the eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

John's hands lifted, mostly from shock, and Sherlock took the opportunity to surge his hands forward. John gasped and clamped his hands back down on Sherlock's.

"Dammit, Sherlock!" John hissed, "That wasn't an invitation!"

Sherlock frowned at John. He didn't understand what the problem was. John provided an issue and Sherlock said something that solved the issue. But John was still resisting. Why? Was this some game that Sherlock didn't know about? Was John "playing hard to get" or something of that sort? Sherlock's frown just deepened as he tried to sort through what was going on.

"Sherlock, there are different types of love," John said quietly, "Family love, the way you love a friend, romantic love, plutonic love. And I think you're confused as to the difference between them."

"I'm not stupid!" Sherlock snapped.

"I didn't say you were, love," John said gently, "I just think it's hard for you to understand this particular area. I believe that you _think _you love me in some sort of way, but I don't think you love me the way you think you do."

"John, what does it matter?" Sherlock said in a frustrated tone, "All I know is I need you here and I will do anything at all to make sure you stay."

"Sherlock, do you want to do this?" John said, squeezing Sherlock's hands, "Do you want to do what you're suggesting?"

"If it makes you happy," Sherlock answered.

"If it had no impact on my emotion," John said, "And it didn't cause me to stay or leave, would you still want to do it?"

Sherlock opened his mouth, but then closed it with a snap. His eyebrows came together as he considered the question. There had been fleeting…thoughts…ones that Sherlock had chosen to push away. There had been a few…dreams. There had been times when John had just stepped out of the shower or was leaning over Sherlock to look at something…Sherlock had been filled briefly with desire for the other man. Sherlock took a deep breath and allowed the pushed away thoughts to come through.

He realized quite suddenly that he did want this man. He wanted him in every sense of the word. He wanted his mind, his body, his _heart. _Sherlock felt a shock go through him at the sensation of…_love. _When he'd said it, it had mostly just been a flippant remark, but now as Sherlock kneeled before John, he knew he loved the other man. His heart started pounding and his stomach tried to twist itself into a knot. It was partly unpleasant, but partly very wonderful. He gasped and his fingers dug into John's legs.

"Yes," Sherlock breathed.

"There, see you-," John jumped suddenly, "What did you say?"

"Yes, I want you, I want to do it," Sherlock gasped, "And more and anything and everything."

John gaped at him and leaned forward, pressing a hand to Sherlock's forehead.

"Are you alright, Sherlock?" John said in concern, "You look flushed."

"I'm aroused," Sherlock panted, "Can we have sex now?"

John's hand flinched away from Sherlock. John looked into the other man's eyes.

"Oh my lord," he whispered, "You actually do love me, don't you? All I can see in your eyes is raw emotion. It's giving me goose bumps."

"I don't know what's happening to me," Sherlock confessed, "I've never felt like this before. Quite literally: I have never _felt _this strongly about anything before. I think I understand why people fall in love now. It's absolutely incredible!"

John laughed and suddenly breeched the distance between their lips. He pressed against Sherlock who responded eagerly. John's hands tugged on Sherlock, pulling him up to his lap. Sherlock broke off to straddle John and then excitedly pressed his body against John's.

"Does this mean we're having sex?" Sherlock asked enthusiastically.

"Is that all you care about?" John laughed.

"No," Sherlock frowned, "I care about you too."

John shook his head and smiled sweetly up at Sherlock.

"I never thought I'd hear that from you," John said quietly, "I thought I was going to live my whole life fawning over you and you would never notice."

"Does that mean you love me too?" Sherlock questioned.

"Yes, idiot," John said, grinning, "I love you too."

"Good," Sherlock said, "Because I was just struck with the thought of how awful it would be if you didn't love me as well. I suppose that's the bad side of love: you don't know if the person will love you back."

"Sherlock…" John whispered, trailing off and looking away.

"What is it John?" Sherlock asked, pressing a hand to John's face.

"If this isn't real," John said tightly, "I will kill you."

"It is the most real I have ever felt," Sherlock replied.

John looked up and puffed a sigh of relief.

"I guess I should cherish this moment," John said, smiling widely, "I doubt you'll ever be so emotionally open again."

"Probably not," Sherlock admitted, "But I can try."

"What made you decide you loved me all of a sudden?" John inquired.

"I didn't suddenly decide I loved you," Sherlock said, frowning, "I suddenly _realized _I did. I've loved you for a long, long time. I didn't realize it until now, when I allowed myself to actually feel for once."

"I'm glad," John said, "About everything."

"That is good, right?"

"Yes, yes it is."

"Good…"

There was a lengthy pause before Sherlock spoke again.

"Can we have sex _now?_" he pressed urgently.

"God, Sherlock, we don't have to have sex right away."

"I know…I just suddenly want to. I don't really like the feeling, actually."

"What feeling?"

"Being aroused."

"Haven't you been aroused before?"

"Fleeting moments. None that lasted this long. It hurts, John."

"Oh shit, you have an erection. That's why you're uncomfortable. You've never had one before?"

"No."

"Well, I guess we'll just have to take care of it, won't we?"

Sherlock looked down at John and felt a shiver go through him. He nodded; his mouth suddenly clamping shut. John grinned up at him and a hand crept up his leg. John's hand gingerly pulled down the zipper and unfastened the button of his trousers. Then John's hand was sliding down into his pants and grasping the erection that throbbed so painfully. John freed it from the fabric prisons and stroked his hand along the length of it.

Sherlock made an obscene noise with his mouth and gripped John's shoulders. John smirked at him before he turned and laid him out on the sofa. Sherlock kept a hold of John's shoulder and John kept a hold of Sherlock's prick. Sherlock groaned loudly as John's hand began to move. It was torturously slow and he wondered how it was possible to orgasm from this. As soon as the thought made its way into Sherlock's mind, John's hand sped up. Sherlock gasped and clutched harder at John's shoulders. Sherlock's hips lifted off the sofa, bucking into John's hand. Sherlock frowned in confusion; he hadn't intended to do that.

"It's ok, Sherlock," John reassured him, "That's normal. Your body's taking over."

Sherlock wasn't sure that that was particularly reassuring. But he didn't have much time to think on it, as John's grip had suddenly become tighter and his pace sped up. Sherlock let out an awkward moaning noise and his face contorted. Later, Sherlock would lament looking like an idiot, but at that moment, he couldn't have cared less.

"Holy. Oh. My. I. John. Can't," Sherlock muttered as his hips lifted once again.

And a few seconds later he screamed and clutched John as though the man was his life support. Hot pleasure surged through him and he was sent into a spiral of gasping and shuddering. He hazily registered that his own semen was splattering against John's shirt. He pulled on John, pulling him closer to his body. He suddenly felt very cold.

"You ok there?" John whispered in his ear.

Sherlock panted in response, trying to catch his breath.

"That was quite pleasurable," he finally managed to gasp out.

"Thank god," John said, sounding relieved, "I was afraid you didn't like it for a minute there."

"It was the first time I've ever…" Sherlock trailed off, trying to collect his thoughts.

"I know," John said quietly, "There will be more times, if you want."

"Yes," Sherlock answered breathlessly, "But not now…I can't…my mind…"

"Went to fluff?" John supplied, chuckling.

"Yes," Sherlock replied, his hands tightening on John's shirt, "Scary."

"For you, I imagine it is," John agreed, "Other people don't mind as much."

There was a long silence as Sherlock tried to compose himself.

"John, I really do love you," Sherlock whispered.

"I know," John whispered back, "I love you too."

They laid there until they started falling asleep, at which point they readjusted themselves to be more comfortable. Sherlock tucked himself back into his pants and zipped up his trousers, looking rather embarrassed. John pressed a light kiss to his lips and snuggled into his chest, promptly falling asleep. Sherlock stayed awake for a few more minutes, looking down at the other man's mused blonde hair. He sighed and kissed the man's head before falling into deep, peaceful sleep. He didn't realize until later that there had been a million things to think at that moment, but he hadn't thought a single one of them.

* * *

**Little note: That's the end guys. :/ Hope ya'll liked it! Love you all!**


End file.
